


Without the Sound of Guns

by phoapostrophes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:49:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoapostrophes/pseuds/phoapostrophes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a perfectly normal kid. He does his homework (most of the time), doesn’t do any (hard) drugs, and doesn’t stay out (too) late. So when he’s sidelined and kidnapped by a couple of mean looking guys with huge ass biceps, he’s not very sure why.</p>
<p>Of course, it might have something to do with the fact that he’s the son of John Stilinski, the head of the Stilinski gang.</p>
<p>Just your friendly neighbourhood gang leader’s son being kidnapped. No biggie.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(In which Beacon Hills is divided into two gangs, the Hales and the Stilinskis, and John is a faceless adversary that everyone wants to find.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, first TW fic which I started before I even began watching the show (whoops). Hope it's not too out-of-character or anything (not that I'd really know since I'm all but six episodes into season one heh).
> 
> It's pretty exciting, writing things ohoho hopefully you'll like it?
> 
> Trigger warnings: mild references to suicidal ideation and torture, as well as character deaths.

Stiles is a perfectly normal kid. He does his homework (most of the time), doesn’t do any (hard) drugs, and doesn’t stay out (too) late. So when he’s sidelined and kidnapped by a couple of mean looking guys with huge ass biceps, he’s not very sure why.

Of course, it might have something to do with the fact that he’s the son of John Stilinski, the head of the Stilinski gang.

Just your friendly neighbourhood gang leader’s son being kidnapped. No biggie.

Stiles knows he’s not going to win this fight, so he sighs as he lets the intimidating men put a black hood over his head and shove him into the unmarked black van that he should really have noticed. Being the person he is, one would really think he’d be more aware of his surroundings. It’s just his luck that the one day he has his guard down, he gets taken by a bunch of meatsacks.

This is so not his day.

*

Stiles wakes up to find himself tied to a chair. Classy. The black hood is still on, so he can't see where he is, and he can't hear anything that'd be of use to determining his location.

“Hello Stiles.”

It’s a grudgingly familiar voice that greets him as the black hood comes off. It’s matched to an equally familiar face. He’s being held in some kind of warehouse, and sitting across him at a table is Peter Hale.

“Hi Peter,” Stiles says. “I don’t suppose I’m just here for dinner.” Peter smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No, but dinner does sound like a good idea.” Peter gestures, and a plate of food is brought to the table.

One plate. Of curly fries. Stiles groans.

“I hate you so much,” Stiles says.

“Likewise.” Peter slowly and deliberately picks up a fry and puts it in his mouth, chewing with a thoughtful look. “So, Stiles. How’s your old man? Been wanting to meet him. Any chance I can schedule a meeting?”

Stiles grins.

“Over my dead body.”

Peter continues eating.

*

The Stilinski gang is huge and prosperous in Beacon Hills. Cops are respected (well, the not-corrupt ones are, and they’re far and few), but it’s the old blood that holds power. No one crosses the Stilinskis, and for good reason. Not that anyone actually wants to cross the Stilinskis.

In a way, the Stilinski gang is an extension of the police force in Beacon Hills. They look after the people and enforce the rules. Heading the organisation is, of course, the Stilinskis: John Stilinski, who has essentially disappeared off the face of the earth, silently ruling the gang from behind a curtain of anonymity; Claudia Stilinski, the face of the organisation; and Stiles, the crazy Stilinski kid whom everyone loves, for some reason.

No one knows who exactly John Stilinski is. Any records of him have mysteriously disappeared, and the man never shows his face anywhere.

The rival gang, the Hales, have been looking for John for what seems like forever. Their leader, Peter Hale, is ruthless and cunning. He takes what he wants, and has no qualms against collateral damage. His second-in-command is Derek Hale, his nephew. His niece, Derek’s sister, Laura Hale, has left Beacon Hills. Something about disagreements in the family shortly after Claudia Stilinski’s death.

Claudia Stilinski died when Stiles was eight. Perished in a car accident. The funeral was beautiful, in the way beauty can coexist with pain. Elaborately planned, with no expenses spared. John Stilinski was not in attendance. Stiles was.

Claudia Stilinski’s death was ruled as a tragedy. No foul play was suspected. There was no cause for suspicion when they already knew what happened. That week, at least half the Hale gang was taken down.

The Stilinskis don’t believe in karma. They believe in revenge.

*

It isn’t the ineffectiveness of the left hook to his jaw, and the slow breaking of all the bones in Stiles’ left hand, and the threat of pulling out all of his teeth, that cues Peter in to the fact that Stiles isn’t going to tell him where John Stilinski is.

It’s the manic laughter. The crazy eyes, so alive with hatred and pain and something else Peter is actually afraid to name, in the way that’s just off the edge of dead. It’s the way Stiles doesn’t bother concealing his pain, just lets it out like it’s release. It’s the baiting tone in Stiles’ voice that practically screams “KILL ME, KILL ME, KILL ME”.

So Peter stops.

“What, you can’t handle more blood, old man?” Stiles mumbles between the swelling of the face and his split lips.

“Suicidal little git,” is all Peter says in reply.

“Tends to happen when you lose everything,” Stiles says. “You’d know better than most.”

Peter’s eyes flash red.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” Stiles begins, raising his voice slightly. (As loud as he could, anyway. His ribs were probably broken, and it hurt to take in too many deep breaths.) “You would know better than most, wouldn’t you? I mean, you’re the only other person I know whose family is full of idiots or gravestones. I mean, poor little Peter left all alo--”

Peter is at his neck with a knife. A very big knife. Sharp. He can feel the edge teasing his pulse, ready to dive in.

“Go ahead,” Stiles whispers.

“With pleasure.”

Of course, Stiles isn’t that lucky, because lo and behold, a hand grips the handle of the knife in Peter’s hand.

“Don’t, Peter. His death won’t help us,” a gruff, disembodied voice says. Peter’s face is all up in Stiles’ personal space, so much so that he can feel his breath on his cheek, and he’s blocking Stiles’ view of the newcomer.

It’s not much of a mystery, though. The newcomer turns out to be Derek Hale, who practically drags Peter off Stiles.

“What do you suggest we do with the bastard, then?” Peter asks his nephew expectantly.

“Maybe we should try something else,” is all Derek says.

Stiles doesn’t really know whether to be grateful or scared. He’s a little of both, in that small part of him that still feels real, actual human emotions. The rest of him? Filled with a mixture of apathy and dread.

Derek looks at him like he knows this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna read more of my crap, my writing blog is pmwriteng.tumblr.com! Drop me an ask or something, I'm chill. :)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Implied self-harm

The first thing Derek does is tend to his injuries. All the bleeding, internal and external, is stopped as well as they can be, and he’s slowly patched up. His entire left hand is immobilized, with each finger in their own little cast thing. It amuses Stiles in a way. Looks like he won’t be all that handy for the time being.

Hey, near-death experiences justify a little gallows punning. He can’t help it if his subconscious thinks it’s a good idea to think of stupid puns when he’s hanging at the edge of pain-euphoria and just-kill-me. It’s a coping mechanism.

Derek pauses a little at the cuts on Stiles’ arm. For a moment, he thinks they’re Peter inflicted, but then he realizes they’re older and healing. He doesn’t say anything.

Stiles appreciates that, even if this was the right-hand man of the person who ordered the death of his mother. Stiles is a bitter little shit, but he’s a bitter little shit who’s good at compartmentalizing. Now that he’s not faced with probable immediate death, he’s in default fight-or-flight mode, his mind cycling through the situation, coming up with possible escape plans. Exit strategies. That was the first thing his father taught him.

He knows that whatever Derek’s got planned for him, it won’t be pleasant. He also knows that Derek isn’t as heartless as Peter, which just means he’s a weak spot. Derek could be the key to his escape.

He’s right about one thing, and one thing only. Whatever Derek’s got planned, it will definitely not be pleasant.

*

The next thing Derek does is feed Stiles. This comes as a surprise to Stiles, though what surprises him more than the food in front of him is his hunger. Apparently, Stiles is even better at compartmentalizing than he thought, because he entirely blocked out the fact that he hasn’t eaten for the past twelve hours, give or take.

It’s hard to think about food when you’re being tortured, so he figures he’s got good reason. That doesn’t make the Chinese take-out and cup of shitty coffee any less alluring. Now that survival isn’t the only thing in his mind, hunger is second only to his reservations about accepting food from the enemy.

Derek sighs when he sees the hesitance in Stiles’ actions, and the distrust in his eyes.

“Look, it’s not poisoned. If I wanted you dead, I’d have let Peter finish you off. I’m feeding you to keep you alive, which you will not be if you starve to death,” Derek says. He has an oddly soothing voice. A little sexy too. Now was not the time to notice that, but Stiles has never been known for his good timing.

He accepts the food. It tastes like something out of a five-star Michelin restaurant after everything he’s been through. It's kind of hard to eat with only one hand, but he manages. Hunger can drive a person to do a lot of things. Stiles figures perseverance is key, and he can be determined as hell if he wants to be. He's also not sure if he's just referring to food anymore, but that's the wonders of a wandering mind.

Derek smiles a little as he watches Stiles scarf down the food. Very little. He thinks Stiles doesn’t see.

Stiles see a lot of things. The only issue was believing it.

*

It’s after food that the difficult part begins. Apparently, it’s talking. More specifically, Derek wants Stiles to talk.

Talking has never been a burden to Stiles. He’s good at it. It’s one of his defining qualities, his ability to talk his way through and out of situations. It’d probably be one of his best qualities if it wasn’t so annoying to everyone who had to suffer hours of his hyperactive, too-fast-to-comprehend speech. However, Stiles actually does know when not to speak. It’s not difficult for him to shut up, seeing that he’s never been very good at giving information anyway. Just, he doesn’t like to talk with the enemy, and he knows he probably won’t like whatever Derek wants to talk to him about.

Also, funny, Stiles never took Derek for a talker. Brooding serial killer? Sure. Interrogator? Without bloodshed? Practically mindblowing.

Funnier still, why would Derek think Stiles would tell him anything of use (like where John Stilinski was) when hours of torture didn’t yield any results?

(Stiles thinks Derek is odd. He likes odd, especially when it quite literally saves his neck.)

“Tell me about your father,” Derek says.

“I’m not telling you where he is,” Stiles replies, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t ask you that,” Derek says. “I asked you to tell me about him.”

Oh.

“What do you want to know?” Stiles says. “I’m drawing a little short.”

Not that he actually can’t think of anything to say about his own father. It’d be easy enough to talk about John Stilinski. Easy enough to recall all the things about him, like how he liked the smell of tulips because those were his mother’s favourite flowers, or that he felt like safety, like no matter how old Stiles was, nothing could ever hurt him when he was in his embrace.

He just didn’t want to tell Derek these things. Never show your hand first.

“We can start with what he likes. What food does he like? Or his favourite colour?” Derek answers. They’re simple enough questions. Odd, but simple. Stiles figures there's no way he can answer these questions wrongly. (He doesn't realize how absolutely wrong his is about this until much later.)

“Favourite food? Jeez, that's a hard question. Dad liked anything that would give either me or him a heart attack, I guess,” Stiles says. Derek looks a little puzzled. “Hey, you'd get a heart attack watching someone you love eat an entire pepperoni pizza on their own in one go too,” Stiles says as clarification. The puzzles look goes away a little.

“Favourite colour?” Derek persists. This takes a little consideration, but Stiles finally settles on a colour.

“Ash.” Derek’s a little bewildered.

“Why?”

“No reason in particular. Just, at the end of the day, he really liked the fourth Horseman,” Stiles says in reply. If he notices Derek’s confusion, he doesn't comment or make any move to clarify.

Then Derek declares it's time for Stiles to go home, which is news to Stiles. Good news, but news nonetheless.

“I don’t actually mean your home. I mean a quaint little motel at the end of the road that i can pay for in cash. Either that or you can sleep on the floor here,” Derek clarifies when he sees Stiles’ hopes rising.

It doesn’t bother Stiles that much. Stiles will take what he can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna read more of my crap, my writing blog is pmwriteng.tumblr.com! Drop me an ask or something, I'm chill. :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very sure what's happening, but something is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Lydia! I wanted to write something longer for their scene but nothing came to mind so I just sort of meh-ed and went with this short thing. Might add something sooner or later. Maybe. But for now, enjoy. :)

It doesn't occur to Stiles that he would be essentially under house arrest, which means a sentry at his door. And who else to guard him than Lydia Martin.

And he figures sure, it has to be Lydia frigging Martin, because Derek just has to rub it in his face that the Hales got one of the best even though she was right under Stiles’ nose. Years of pretend-but-not-so-pretend pining over Lydia had shown him that she was genius-level smart hiding under her whole airhead cover, and one of the sharpest people he has ever met. The fact that the Hales offered her a spot in their ranks before Stiles could get to her is a matter of wounded pride.

With the way Stiles’ luck is holding up, of course Lydia is the one sitting on the bed in the small motel room, waiting for him. She probably just remembers him as the Stilinski kid who had a major crush on her, so Stiles doesn’t hold much hope for a night of fun or whatever might be better than facing the Ice Queen’s frosty, bored gaze.

Instead, the first things the redhead says when Stiles enters the room (or rather, is pushed into the room by Derek) is “Oh, thank god.”

Stiles is confused, to say the least.

“Finally, someone who isn’t a walking sack of brawn,” Lydia says. “Welcome to your humble abode, Stilinski. I’ve heard things, so you better be as entertaining as they said you’d be.”

Never a dull moment for Stiles. And with the way Lydia is looking at Stiles, he sort of wishes he didn’t have Entertain Queen Lydia duty.

Stiles also sort of wonders if he’ll survive the night.

*

Stiles does survive the night, and it turns out to be a pleasant surprise. Lydia is as smart as he thought, and they spend the night talking about he-cannot-even-remember-what. It’s probably the start of a very beautiful friendship, or one as beautiful as friendship between the son of a gang leader and a member of the rival gang can be. Stiles will take his chances. Now that Lydia knows he’s not mooning over her twenty-four-seven, they actually have intelligent and interesting conversation. Stiles wants to keep it that way.

Unfortunately, eventually they doze off, and sleep brings morning. And morning arrives too soon, with Derek just barging into the room and yanking Stiles out of bed.

“Dude, what the fu--”

“Your location has been compromised. Come on, move!” Derek barks out.

*

Stiles finds himself in Derek’s car without really processing what happened. He figures it has to be Scott who's found him, or Isaac maybe. Or both. The gang would've noticed his absence by now, and Scott is nothing but loyal.

He probably should've slowed down, give them a chance to catch up with him and his captors. Instead, he just berates himself for stupid muscle memory and not thinking things through.

Derek looks pleased with himself, though. He's got two hands on the wheel, cruising through the empty streets. Stiles looks at the digital clock in the car. It's seven in the morning.

He groans. It's way too early for this shit. He's going to blame his stupidity on the time and totally not on the fact that he spent the whole night talking to Lydia, exhausting him, which was probably what Derek had intended when he left her on sentry duty. Stupid Stiles. Hey, alliteration!

“Hey dumbass, where are we going?” Stiles asks. Derek doesn't answer, just stares straight ahead at the road ahead.

Fine. So looks like it's going to be a long drive. Stiles can wait.

*

Stiles can't wait. He's bored out of his mind in the stupid black car with Derek’s stupid handsome face looking at the stupidly long road road ahead.

Which eventually ends as they pulled up to a house. Sort of. It was more of a burnt shell of what once was a large house. Very large. Practically a mansion.

“Where are we?” Stiles asks, his voice barely a whisper. It seemed kind of wrong to speak loudly in front of the charred house. (What, he's not Captain Tact, but he is occasionally some kind of sensitive, especially when it comes to fire. Good servant, bad master and all that. He's been accidentally burnt as a precocious little kid enough times to know it's not fun.)

“Hale house, or what's left of it,” Derek Hale replies gruffly. Right. Okay. Totally not awkward.

Stiles knows all about what happened, of course. It was the biggest thing that had ever happened in Beacon Hills for pretty much ever. Detective Victoria Argent was killed in a raid of one of the Hale compounds. There were rumours of foul play, but it was mostly dismissed as an accident. Her younger sister, Kate Argent, thought otherwise. She was hellbent on getting revenge. As far as revenge stories went, it reached a borderline anti-climactic ending, with Kate setting the Hale house on fire (woah, excitement) before realizing that none of the Hales were home that day (a lucky coincidence), and then getting caught and doing the walk of shame to the police car, back to the police station where she used to work at.

So. Here they were in the burnt shell of what must have once been Derek’s home. Once again, totally not awkward.

He’s not sure what the etiquette is when it comes to standing in the charred ruins of your kidnapper’s house, but he’s pretty sure bugging Derek about it would not be wise. For all the crazy and stupid recklessness in Stiles, he doesn’t actually like getting hurt, and he doesn’t like hurting people either. So, he kind of just stands there awkwardly, waiting for Derek to command him to do something.

As it is, Derek is just staring into thin air, which worries Stiles. Sure, maybe his kidnapper being a little out of it could be to his advantage. But Stiles is a nice guy, and he’s slightly concerned. Can’t be good for one’s mental health to be sitting in the house where his family almost died.

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles asks. His voice is loud in the relative silence. Derek snaps out of his reverie and looks at him blankly.

“They probably won’t find you here, and even if they do, there’s the woods,” Derek says. Because that is totally not a creepy thing to say. Absolutely not.

“Okay,” Stiles says. He is very eloquent and not freaking out.

He’s freaking out a little, but it’s not a big deal. He’s sure Scott will find him. It’s just a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna read more of my crap, my writing blog is pmwriteng.tumblr.com! Drop me an ask or something, I'm chill. :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in so long! Even though I know what's going to happen, I don't really know how it's going to happen, so I've kind of been making it up on the way. Writer's block is a bitch. :)

Derek may have made a mistake bringing Stiles here.

He knows it's a good place to hide. It was the last place he would ever choose to go if given the choice, which meant it was the last place anyone would think he would bring Stiles, making it the best place to bring Stiles. That didn't mean it was the best place for him to be.

Not that it matters much anyway, seeing that he’s already brought Stiles here. Moving him again would be risky. Plus, he needs a stable base of operations to continue the questions. Though he suspects that he won’t need to ask as many questions as he thought he would.

“Okay,” Stiles says suddenly. “Important question! Where is the toilet?”

Derek mentally slaps himself. In the face. With his fist. Because yeah, he may or may not have brought Stiles to a dilapidated house in the middle of nowhere that has no proper facilities, including electricity and plumbing. Derek’s never been very good at planning.

“About that,” Derek begins.

*

Stiles ends up doing his business in the Preserve behind the house. It's awkward to say the least, but it gets the job done. (Haha was that a pun? The amazing wit of Stiles Stilinski strikes again!)

Stiles supposes he could probably run out into the Preserve, but he's not stupid enough to think he'd be able to navigate his way out. The Hales had lived here for pretty much ever, so he’s pretty sure Derek knows these woods like the back of his hand. He’s not about to give him a reason to go on a refresher course. Plus, even if Stiles manages to give Derek the slip, it’s not like there’s a second part to the plan. He’s not all that keen on staying in the woods for a prolonged time.

The true prerogative to go back to the house, however, was the creeping feeling that Stiles was being watched. Though he's fairly sure Derek’s the creepmaster extraordinaire, he's not too sure Derek’s the one watching him.

His dad always told him to stay out of the woods.

*  
Derek ends up not really asking Stiles anymore questions. He's not very sure why, seeing that he's supposed to be breaking Stiles and everything. He blames it on the guilt, and that glimpse of Stiles he saw while Peter was threatening to kill him.

Also, the guilt. Derek knows guilt better than anyone, with the exception of maybe Stiles. Of course, Stiles doesn't actually know what happened to his mother when she died. The only people who know that are Derek and Peter, because obviously Peter would know everything even if he wasn't even present.

So they spend about a week in the burnt shell of the Hale house in silence. Kind of. Derek spends it in silence, but Stiles? Apparently, not asking questions gets Stiles talking more than actually interacting does.

Stiles talks about everything and anything under the sun. About school, and his assignments, and how his teacher (Harry? Garrison? Gary? Derek doesn't care.) is going to kill him when he doesn't show up in class because he seems to have some vendetta against him or something. Stiles talks about mythology which he picked up after sleepless nights and too much Adderall. (He seems to be especially knowledgeable on werewolves, for some reason.) As they eat the meals Lydia brings them, Stiles tells him about the history male circumcision.

To anyone, it would look like Stiles has relaxed in Derek’s presence. Derek knows better. Stiles hasn't mentioned a thing about his gang, or his father. Every piece of information he has willingly given up seems carefully vetted and deliberately useless. Stiles is smarter than a lot of people give him credit for.

If anything, Derek’s the one relaxing in the presence of Stiles’ easy stream of chatter. Stiles’ voice has an oddly calming that's like an anchor to him. It reminds him of the lullabies his mother used to sing to him.

And that's the first indication that Derek’s screwed. Because good kidnappers don't develop crushes on their victim’s voice.

Also, good kidnappers don't let their guard down.

*  
Stiles is screwed. So screwed.

Getting kidnapped was just step one to the utter mess he calls his life ending in catastrophe. Everything that’s happened and is happening just brings him closer to whatever horrible end that awaits him.

Stiles doesn’t particularly believe in destiny or predetermination or whatever, but if his life’s already been planned out to become this, well, he’s had about enough of this shit. Because, honestly, his life has been pretty shit.

He wouldn’t trade any of the people he loved for a different life, because he loves his dad and Scott and everyone so much sometimes it hurts. He’s willing to give anything for them. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish fate would just cut him some slack.

Fate’s a bitch, his life’s been shit, and Derek’s just the cherry on top of the mountain of ridiculous his life has been built upon.

Because, damn, Derek cannot actually be real. From solely a physical stand, Derek is hot as the sun. Stupidly handsome face, might-as-well-be-marble abs, and those legs just go on like nobody’s business. The small smiles that escape occasionally make him shine brighter than any light that has ever been shone in Stiles’ eyes (and that’s been a lot of lights, because cops apparently watch too many cop shows, and Stiles has been on the receiving end of interrogations as many times as he’s been on the giving end). And Stiles cannot even begin to explain how Derek’s eyebrows can exist in this plane of existence, in all their eyebrow glory.

Mentally, Derek has a mind as solid as his abs. He’s not an idiot by any means, and behind all the pre-verbal grunts, Derek can hold a conversation as well as Stiles, even. He’s knowledgeable and is open-minded. He’s interested in things Stiles knows about. He is willing to debate on things they disagree on (debate meaning Stiles rants about the issue and Derek expresses his opinions by nodding or frowning). Stiles has actually seen his stand change through the vague relaxing of his eyebrows or the tensing of his shoulders.

Essentially, Derek is hot and smart, and Stiles is screwed. Getting kidnapped might’ve been something Stiles has prepared for, but crushing on his captor-- possibly even falling in love-- was never part of the plan.

Damn Stockholmes and Stiles’ inability to keep his heart safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna read more of my crap, my writing blog is pmwriteng.tumblr.com! Drop me an ask or something, I'm chill. :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More things happen whoops haven't updated in forever. Haven't written in forever, but I definitely haven't forgotten this fic. So here's a really, really short thing

Their stay in the Hale house is longer than Derek anticipated, so it’s no surprise when he wakes up to a call from a furious Peter Hale.

“Are you done with the Stilinski kid?” Peter demands.

“Almost,” Derek replies curtly.

“Almost isn’t enough. I want answers by this week, and the kid underground by the weekend.”

“Underground?” Derek repeated.

“Yes, underground.” Peter rolls his eyes. “Do I need to spell it out for you? I need the boy to kick the bucket, be six feet under without a pulse. I want him dead, with the body disposed of, by the weekend.”

“You never said we were killing him.”

Peter rolls his eyes again.

“What did you think we were going to do? Exterminate his entire gang, and then what? Continue playing house with the kid?” Derek feels his hand tremor a little. Peter picks up his hesitation.

“Is there a problem?” Derek clenches his jaw.

“No.”

“Good.”

Bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for more of my terribad writing, check out pmwriteng.tumblr.com :)


End file.
